


Terezi: Arm Yourself

by cthchewy (pyrrhic_victoly)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Play, Bad Puns, Crack, Don't Try This At Home, F/F, Object Penetration, abuse of space powers, do the spacey thing!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victoly/pseuds/cthchewy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein there is an answer to the age old question: how many arms can Terezi fit in her asshole?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terezi: Arm Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt here](http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/40248.html?thread=46510136#cmt46510136)

**Terezi: Arm Yourself**

You are too busy cackling like a madwoman over your BRILLIANT PLAN to do the arming of yourself. Luckily, you have a lovely friend here who is willing to DO THE SPACEY THING to your tight wastechute. Tonight, you will TAKE UP ARMS.

V1V4 L4 R3S1ST4NC3!

 

**Jade: Arm Terezi**

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. That’s all you can think as Terezi bends over the table, jutting up her pert bottom and wiggling it a bit. She’s trying to entice you into thinking of this in a mutually satisfactory sexual manner, but you just can’t. Because. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

You watch Terezi put on a fail strip show with nary an expression on your face other than slightly distasteful resignation. She shimmies out of her pants, leaving her lower half encased only in bright rainbow dragon boxers. Were it any other situation, you might have thought her artlessness, her self-confidence to be really sexy. Now, however, your gaze flips between Terezi’s rainbow rump… and the pile of arms on the floor beside her. It is not sexy. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, you keep telling yourself. None of it was.

 

**== > Reminisce**

The game is over. The door to the new Universe stands before you. What lies beyond? It’s an Earth players session that won. The prize should take the humans’ wishes into account more than the trolls’… right? That’d be good! Even the trolls think Alternia was shit, which was why their dream Universe was Earth!

Your friends step through, and you go in as well. That’s when you learn…

  


  


Your name is now ZHAYDE HARLEY, a greenblood. (What do you mean ‘now’? Your name has always been Zhayde!) Your hemohue is neither excessively common nor excessively rare, nor do you have any psychic powers. You do, however, think you are quite good with your strife specibus, RIFLEKIND. It is nearing Conscription time for you, since you are NINE SWEEPS OLD, and even though you know, logically, it is nothing to fear for a troll of your blood, combat abilities, and non-mutant status, something… nags.

It nags at the back of your conscience. You think, sometimes, in dreams and half-remembered visions, that you are not who you are. That this is not who you are supposed to be.

~~Pesterchum~~ Trollian pings simultaneously from all five computing devices you have on your person. It’s your stalker.

CG: WAKE UP, JADE!

You don’t know how this guy got your Trollian handle, but he suddenly started trolling you about a sweep ago. All he ever says, between bouts of very creative cursing (kudos for broad vocabulary, you guess?) and gross metaphors, is that you need to WAKE UP, you need to REMEMBER, you need to this and that. Geez, he’s so bossy. The screen fills up with gray capslock before you have the chance to get a word in edgewise.

It’s not that you disagree with his stance on lowblood rights and such, it’s just. Wow. Really? Is he trying to blackflirt with you by yelling about aliens and timelines? 

You’re about to reply to his impolite messages with an impolite message of your own – one that begins with “Listen, fuckass” – when the nagging feeling… clicks after so long… and you…

GG: um… karkat? i think i just remembered D:  
CG: WELL THANK FUCK. FINALLY!  
GG: DDDDDDDDDDDDDD:  
GG: oh nooooooooo

Are you Jade or are you Zhayde? It doesn’t matter, not when your LONG LOST FRIENDS are suffering under the rule of an INSANE FISH QUEEN. You do as you must.

You become… an ARMS DEALER.

viva la resistance!! :D

**Zhayde: Stop dicking around and arm Terezi**

“You done reminiscing? My glutes are getting cold.” Terezi turns to look/smell at you, still in her table-humping posture. She waggles her eyebrows. You sigh, so she ups the ante. “I see you’re… _packing heat_. Come warm me up, babe.”

Terezi parts her own buttcheeks. You resist the urge to laugh detachedly at the silliness of the word ‘buttcheeks’. Instead, you sigh and ask, “Is this really necessary?”

“I don’t see you volunteering _your_ asshole.”

_’You can’t see anything!!!’_ you want to shout at her. “Why does it have to be assholes at all? Why can’t we just shrink them and carry them in our luggage?”

“We’ve been _over_ this,” Terezi says. “That over there,” she gestures with a butt-waggle, “is a gigantic pile of arms that needs to get shipped to the resistance. Even a bunch of toy-sized weapons would look suspicious with drone security being what it is. C’mon, miss spearmint gum, _make me tingle_.”

Her claws, always immaculately sharp, remain parting her glutes. Not buttcheeks, okay? Glutes. They are parting her glutes, the pucker of her wastechute is… kinda winking at you ~~and it’s really weird~~ it’s not weird at all!! You can handle this! You are a grown ~~woman~~ ~~troll~~ trollwoman!!!

Terezi, sensing your continued discomfort, says, “It’s also one of my kinks, okay? Just do it.”

You approach her inviting backside and grab from the arms pile… a rifle. Rifles always make you feel better, more secure in the face of uncertainty and, yes, also in the face of ~~winking motherpuckers~~ ~~ASSHOLES!~~ Terezi’s wastechute. (Your more vulgar friends are ~~rubbing off on you~~ influencing you in undesirable ways.)

You make the mistake of looking at the pile of arms. That is a MASSIVE PILE OF ARMS, okay? No, it is like REALLY MASSIVE. There are rifles, there are clubs. There are all manner of blades and, fuck. Maces. Hammers. _Chainsaws._ For once in your troll life you are intimidated by the sheer size of your own weapons stockpile.

Below the wastechute, Terezi’s nook begins to glisten with her arousal. She laughs, a throaty chuckle rather than her usual grating cackle. “I trust you, Jade. You won’t hurt me. And even if you did, I’d probably like it.”

It’s a nice feeling, being trusted. You tap into your space powers – they’re more limited than they were in the game, but you’re still god tier, damn it! – and shrink the rifle as much as you can. With copious amounts of lube and some extra space-powered stretching enchantments, you manage to easily slide it into Terezi’s back door.

Then you grab a lance and repeat the process. You have essentially created a BAG OF HOLDING in Terezi’s ass. It double-shrinks the weapons once they’re inside, so it’s quite the drain on your powers while the process is ongoing. You can’t make the larger weapons as small as you’d like, especially the DOOMSDAY DEVICE, which remains the size of your fist no matter how you try to do the spacey thing some more.

But you keep working to the sounds of Terezi’s “mmff, aaahhh” moans. There is a measure of solace in the fact that she’s enjoying this. Her tongue lolls out by the time you get to the doomsday device, and she pants out, “Yes, yes Jade, yes! More!”

How many arms can Terezi fit in her asshole? The answer: all of them. All the arms.

The floor beneath you is splattered in teal fluids when you’re done. Despite the double-shrinking, there are so many arms that Terezi’s midsection bulges out around the warped space-pocket you’ve created inside her. You quickly decaptchalogue a wet towel to wipe her off; she gets dressed while you straighten out your skirt.

She still manages to walk with her characteristic swagger, cane-sword tapping the tiles at regular intervals as the two of you saunter out of the warehouse. She cackles, and you find yourself loving the sound. It brings forth an indescribable feeling in your gut, like effervescent bubbles of dread-poison-glee rising to tickle at your throat until you laugh, grim ~~bark~~ ly.

“Let’s wreck some shit.”


End file.
